Eternity
by Phantom-Voices
Summary: Christine returns to Erik after recieving the message in the Epoque, but what will she find? Oneshot.


**A/N: This is what could have been the end of Leroux, when Christine returned to Erik. It would have been a continuation to Beyond Words, but I couldn't get the middle chapters to work. I don't think this is quite as good as BW, but please review anyway!**

**Thanks.**

And so, it was after those dreadful events which took place in the cellars of the opera house that I found myself back in my small bedroom at Mamma Valerius' house, having to inspect the Epoque daily for some kind of message which Erik had said he would leave me. This message would alert me of the time at which I should go back to the cellars to bury his body, along with his masterpiece _Don Juan Triumphant_. I had been waiting for three long weeks by that time and was getting rather impatient with him, for I simply wished to be married to Raoul and leave the country, along with Mamma Valerius. It was rather fortunate that Raoul had insisted that I should spend some time back at my home to allow me to adequately recover from my ordeal below. Had he not, I feel it would have been rather more difficult for me to leave the household on the day when that fateful message did arrive.

It was mid-morning when I received the news for which I had waited so long. Mamma Valerius was still sleeping heavily at that time, so the process of leaving was rather simple. As I quickly scrawled a note for her, my mind began to race with thoughts of what I may find down below. He may, of course, have already been long gone by the time I arrived. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I had never before seen a person no longer of the living world and the though of the cold, hard body that I may have found was almost enough to prevent me from going altogether. However, my logical state of mind began to intervene. He would have to be alive to publish such a note and even Erik could not predict the exact time he would no longer be a part of the mortal world.

The journey to the opera house passed in such a blur that I can barely remember it. I slipped quickly down the least crowded streets I could think of lest I be recognised, pausing only when I reached my destination at the opera house to find the secret tunnel which I had been instructed to travel through. It was very dark, possibly the blackest of all the routes I had been shown, but it was an easy path to follow; straight, with no sharp dips or hills to stumble over. I cannot be sure of exactly how long I walked, but it seemed like an eternity before I found a passage with which I was familiar.

After navigating that final passage, I found myself standing at the door of Erik's underground house. The door was slightly ajar. Slipping through it, I looked around at the place where I had been twice held prisoner. Everything seemed exactly as it were before, except for one detail. There was no music, no life in the place. Before there had always been the sound of the clattering of plates as Erik prepared me another banquet, or the pounding of the organ as it played a haunting melody. Today there was silence.

I soon located the morbid room which was Erik's and gently opened the heavy, wooden door. Immediately, the large, black coffin came into view, a tall, slim figure inside of it. I carefully tiptoed over to it and perched myself on a three-legged stool which had been positioned beside it. It was presumably used to help him get into the coffin; the sides were rather high even for someone of his impressive height. I looked down at the form which lay quite still, arms gently resting at his sides. He was so still, in fact, that I feared that he may already have been long gone and I would have simply been sitting beside a real corpse.

"Erik?" I whispered nervously, hoping for some motion on his behalf. I need not have been concerned though, for as soon as I had uttered the word, a flickering candle suddenly illuminated his masked face.

"Christine," he stated, his voice quiet and weak. This surprised me, for he had always had the most pure and commanding tone. This new voice was quite unnerving for me to hear, as it was then that I realised that he was truly beyond ever returning to his usual self; that my angel was really going to leave me.

Neither of us said anything for a long time after that, so I felt free to study him further. He was as always, wearing a fine dress suit, which was overly large for his terribly thin frame. Upon his face he was still wearing the black mask which he always used to conceal from the world what it surely would not accept should it see underneath. The thought occurred to me then how terrible it must be for someone to have to hide their face for their entire life and how unfair it seemed for them to have to hide at the end of their life also. No, it would simply not do, I decided finally. While I did not particularly wish to see the sight I would see, I was well enough accustomed to it not to react in way which would only make him want to tie the piece of cloth back on as quickly as possible.

"Erik?" I started, watching his head tilt slowly in my direction. I chose my next words carefully, for these were essential to whether he would comply or not, "It would please me greatly if you were to remove your mask, if you would not mind," I finished quickly, waiting for a reaction. At first he seemed quite confused by my request, before what I had said had completely sunk in. As he began to realise what I had asked of him, it seemed as if he were about to begin to argue, or rebuke me for asking too much of him. However, he simply sighed, too tired to begin what would be a long debate if he disagreed.

"You know I cannot refuse your wishes, however much I would like to," came the soft reply. I watched he carefully removed the fabric from his face, preparing myself in a way so that I would not sub-consciously draw away. Slowly letting the cloth drop, he gazed nervously at me, wary of my reaction. I tried to convey with my expression how I was not concerned about his appearance any longer, looking directly back into his eyes, not staring at the large hole where his nose should have been or at his unnaturally thin lips. Still, he seemed rather uneasy, so in an attempt to reassure him, I placed my hand gently into his moist, bony one. It seemed as though he was about to pull away, but after a few seconds of thought, the contact settled his anxiety and I felt the squeeze on my hand returned.

We stayed in that position for a while, both of us simply enjoying the other's company as we had not had the opportunity to do previously. While doing so, I found the opportunity to extensively study the room. Apart from the morbid, black box which took up a large part of the room, there was very little furniture. The only other defining features were the notes scrawled in blood red over each of the four walls and a tall set of sheet music stacked untidily in a pile in the very corner of the room, most of it presumably written by him. I peered over, trying to see what was written on the pages.

"You are curious my dear, are you?" the man asked from behind me. I simply nodded as a reply.

"Would you like to sing, Christine? For me, once last time, perhaps?" He sounded almost pleading, knowing it would be the last opportunity for him to hear my voice. However, I had also realised that this would be the last time it would be possible for me to hear his wonderful voice and that I too had to hear the other sing one final time.

"If you will also," I responded.

"My my, so demanding tonight, my angel," he teased "As you may have realised, it will be rather difficult to sing in this position, but I am, of course willing to try, for you," I could not tell if he was making a serious statement or not, but by the slightly upward pull on the corners of his mouth, it was reasonable to assume that he was not. Excited to be singing again, for I had not had the heart to during the time I had been waiting above, I could hardly contain myself as I bounded across the floor to the music. Riffling through the pile, I found a duet which appeared interesting and returned it to Erik who was waiting patiently for my return.

As there was no piano nearby, it was he who hummed my staring note for me, in perfect pitch as it had always been. We began the beautiful piece, which started with the soprano part singing a sorrowful solo, only to be comforted by the smooth tenor's smooth melody as he discovered her pain. His voice was just as I had remembered during my singing lessons; pure, powerful and yet gentle as the same time. Even from his difficult position lying down, he still hit every note with such care and passion as he could muster, almost making me forget to sing my own part as consumed was I in his. He was no longer the man who had captured me and attempted to force me into becoming his living bride, but was the angel who had befriended me and offered comfort after those lonely years at the opera, becoming my best friend for those three months in which I had believed him to be a real angel.

All too soon, the song came to a close, our voices ending in a lovely harmony. It was a rather nasty surprise when I heard Erik's voice waver and falter before my own. Cutting off the note, I saw that he also looked annoyed, but not surprised. In fact, he appeared apologetic, as if he had known that it would not be possible for him to finish with the perfection he always desired. Startled, I took hold of his limp hand again, the reality of the situation boring into me. I felt hot tears begin to slip down my freezing cheeks, so I tried to quickly wipe them away, for I did not want him to see me so upset over what would appear to be one, simple note.

"Do not cry, Christine for I assure you, I am not worth your tears," he soothed. These words did nothing to reassure me though; they simply made the tears flow harder. It saddened me to think that someone could think so little of themselves to say something such as that. I began to sob anew, feeling that I should say something, anything to confirm that he was worth every drop of salty water that fell, yet I thought in vain, for nothing would come to me. I was quite relieved when he finally spoke again.

"Christine?"

"Yes, angel?"

"Please, do not think of me as that any longer, angels do not lure young maidens to Hell, my dear..."

"What did you want to say?"

"I love you, Christine," he said my name as if I were a holy creature myself, and he no more than the lowliest of peasants in some reclusive village on an unknown mountainside. I struggled to think of a reply to his declaration, which had quite clearly come from deep within the man's heart and soul. Many thoughts flew through my mind in one instant, yet one stood out for me, a glimmer of light in the gloom which surrounded us. After a few moments of struggle, for what I was about to tell him was most certainly not entirely true, I decided that it was for the best if I were to give voice to my thought. After all, would it not be better that a man left the earth in blissful ignorance than in the pain of the truth?

"I…love you too," I muttered, not entirely believing what I had said. It had been intended as an outright lie, only uttered to please the one who would soon be consumed by the silver scythe, the cloak as black as night, but I could not destroy the feeling that there may have been an element of truth to what I had just said.

There was not long to dwell on this though, as a shudder rippled through the man's body as he let out a large sigh. I looked down in worry and was rather surprised to see the corners of his strangely shaped mouth turned upward in the first true smile I had ever seen him wear. It was not the deranged grin of a madman about to claim another victim, yet it was not the sad kind of smile which never met the eyes of the person feigning happiness. No, it was a look of true bliss which I shall treasure forever in my memories of him. So powerful was this emotion that I could not help but join him in those moments of joy, even as his eyelids began to flutter closed for the last time.

Gently, the rise and fall of his chest began to decrease a little with each passing breath, becoming less audible every time the air was drawn into tired lungs. The pressure on my hand, however, steadily increased as the minutes crept past. The force was eventually becoming too much for me to bear and I found myself thinking that I may have had to have removed it before my bones were turned to dust, but I did not have to take action on this because there was a sudden release as his pale, fingers slipped from mine and there was simply nothing.

I stared at the motionless form, which appeared as if it was only sleep which prevented the body from stirring. I knew, however, that this was not the case. Slowly, tears welled up in my eyes as I realised that the one who had once been my angel, my friend, my guide, was no longer. Gently, my head fell onto the unmoving chest of the man I had once known and I let the drops flow freely. My mind wandered back to the night on the rooftop, when I had been alone with Raoul, my love. I remembered one thing he had said to me in particular. There were many kinds of love, he had told me, even the kind that could not be explained by any mortal being. A love of the most exquisite kind, which he accused me of feeling for the one I had always felt I could never feel any affection for. However, as I lay there in the darkness and the tears fell for that same man, it was impossible to destroy the feeling that there may have been truth in all that had been said that night.


End file.
